The Transporter
by Capponi
Summary: Mia is an international transporter of illegal goods and the like. Her new assignments a little more complicated than clearing customs with a KB nucular explosive though. Mason Verger wants a certain doctor transported to his house...
1. Proposition

Disclaimer: Despite many negotiations... I still have not wheedled the rights to Hannibal outta Thomas Harris soooooo don't sue me you tight git. I haven't actually seen The Transporter as Blockbusters have not got it in stock but at least this means I get free popcorn with my next order. I don't own the basic storyline though. And don't send snooty ass reviews like 'Have you even SEEN the film??!! Because have just told you I haven't. Ta.  
  
Some language and stuff so all lil' ones cover your eyes partially so it appears as a squiggle with no offensive meaning. The Transporter  
  
Mia jumped the last steps leading to the tarmac floor of the empty aircraft hanger. A smooth black jaguar hunched in the centre of the gloomy room, the equally slick figure of Jake stood next to it. The one and only. The bastard. Upon reaching him, I was given a swift glance over his tinted lenses then a smile.  
  
"Good to see your back in the business, Mia. Never was anyone as good when you left."  
  
"I didn't leave. I took a break, 'kay?"  
  
"Whatever you say. Anyway, to current affairs, here's your new assignment."  
  
I looked at the gleaming automobile with some confusion. I was used to transporting dangerous and expensive items to the many barons of the world. What were they playing at?  
  
"The car? Who the hell wants this?"  
  
Jake shook his head with a patronising tut.  
  
"Not the car, genius. What the car is carrying."  
  
I looked sceptical.  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
Jake jerked his head to the rear of the car. Following, I watched as he popped the boot.  
  
"This is what you're transporting."  
  
I took one look at my cargo and recoiled.  
  
"Shit Jake! You better not be fucking serious! Tell me you're kidding me!"  
  
He looked on at my onslaught with cool indifference.  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"That's a fucking person, Jake! I do diamonds, and pure gold guns and drugs but I do NOT do people, man! It's wrong!"  
  
"What??!!" You have transported millions of pounds worth of illegal substances half way around the world and you're bailing on this??!"  
  
I looked down at the forlorn figure in the boot of the car. He looked rich, well dressed even if his clothes were blood stained and crumpled now, and handsome as hell.  
  
"He's alive?" I whispered.  
  
"Yeah. The bastards just trippin' on a whole lotta sedatives. Should keep him down for another hour or so."  
  
"Then!!???"  
  
"I dunno, Mia! It's your job from here. Just keep him holed up in the trunk if you want."  
  
I looked at the small figure again.  
  
"What did he do? Who wants him?"  
  
Jake grabbed a fist full of the mans dark hair and yanked his head round for her to see.  
  
I stared in disbelief.  
  
"Who the hell wants Hannibal Lecter? This is not for the feds?"  
  
"Not anything so cushy. An old victim wants some rather unsavoury revenge. Gave us, or more to the point, you, over 10 million dollars to deliver the goods."  
  
I reached in to Lecters pale neck, feeling a palpating pulse faintly.  
  
"Fine, I'll deliver him. No more though. No specials on this one."  
  
Jake shook his head.  
  
"That's taken for granted. Not many could pull this off but we're counting on you. Don't screw up."  
  
I nodded, leafing through the maps and notes of the 'packages' behaviour and a personal note from Mr Verger.  
  
I thought he sounded like a prick.  
  
I held out my hand for the keys and with a triumphant grin, Jake slammed the boot again and tossed them over.  
  
With a sense of falling I entered the car and the assignment was mine and mine alone. 


	2. Sedate

The Transporter

Chapter Two-Meeting

The night was cool and complete. Heavy with darkness that cloaked the moonlights weak rays. Far below, on the edge of a forest road, a sleek, black car hunched, the engine purring nicely.

'What the fuck am I doing?' I asked myself for the hundredth time as I sat in the smooth leather seat of the car.

The bitter smell of new leather filled my nose-filled my head. I felt nauseated and was ashamed of it. This was my job for god's sake! A job I was good at, that I enjoyed.

Why was the small man chained in my boot any different to the millions of illegal goods I had transported from the age of 18?

'Because he's a person. He has a life with him, a life you're going to end. You're sending him to his fucking slaughter.' My head was in full revolt. I couldn't believe how torn up I was over him-he was a murderer, the scum of society. I should be happy to rid the world of him.

But I'm not. The fact still stood.

Sighing, I clicked open the heavy door and stepped onto the dirt track on the edge of the road.

It seemed like an age before my hand was resting on the cool flank of the car, finger poised on the unlock button.

I felt fear and I was furious at myself.

"What the fuck do I have to fear?!" I whispered to myself harshly.

Clicking the catch I raised the smooth metal.

As I opened the hatch, he turned his head to me, not to the now open space but to me-looking into my eyes. I was unnerved. He should be groggy still but his eyes told of unnatural awareness.

He was curled in the large boot, ankles and wrists cuffed with a length of electricians' tape over his mouth. His eyes bore into me with such unadulterated anger it seemed to burn, even on that freezing night. His eyes were like boiling blood; the pupils dilated and seemed to suck your gaze into their cold depths.

God, this guy was creepy! No wonder he had been locked up for so long. He chilled you yet made your blood burn at the same time.

Forcing myself to appear aloof and uncaring I reached unflinchingly into the boot and two fingers hit his neck, exactly over his pulse point. It was strong but slow, unusually normal for someone just round from animal sedatives and found themselves inside a boot of a strange car.

Now what to do? Take him into the car or leave him here? I couldn't do the latter for the irritating humanity suddenly present in me, yet the former was too risky. I started into his face for several minutes and his gaze never wavered. I made my decision.

Reaching for the bonds around his ankles, I pulled his legs out from under him and round slightly. Slipping a syringe into a capsule of weak sedative a slid it into his slim thigh and held on, waiting for the muscles to relax, then tugged his docile form into a half sitting position. Giving him a quick check over I deduced he had no injuries I would worsen by moving him and lifted his light frame from the deep boot and without any care for ceremony, threw him onto the back seat.

Shutting the boot again, I noticed the wiry carpeting clogged with blood near to where his legs were. I would have to check that out, make sure no medical attention was needed. Moving to where he was, unconscience again but

not as deep this time-a five-minute job used if a delivery got out of control. Using my time wisely I unlocked the cuffs on his wrists and threaded them through the thick door handle by his head, then did the same with his ankles at the bottom so he was rather effectively stretched along the back seat, held for the moment.

I reached to the thick yellow tape over his mouth and ripped it off in one quick jerk, twisting his head violently. His lips were unnaturally dark for a man and the tap had pulled some skin off the bottom lip, a trickle of blood slipped to his chin.


	3. Explosive

The Transporter

Chapter Three- Revised (what is it with me and re-writing chapter threes? phhff..)

Dr Lecter came back to himself with a slight wrinkling of his nose. His eyes opened, pupils swelling in the gloom of his new surroundings and took everything in with a series of blinks. A bedroom, looked under furbished- possibly a guest bedroom? Or a hotel, possibly but if so how did the woman get him in? No, it must be an arranged lodging. He had noticed many religious motifs- crosses and bible illustrations in his inspection. Mason Verger was the most likely benefactor of such a place. It did not come as a surprise.

He heard noises in the adjoining room and tilted his head towards it- he had found himself bound in a way that restricted any other movement but was not uncomfortable. His captor was slightly compassionate- a weakness he intended to exploit if he could, he thought darkly. A woman- the same Asiatic who had sedated him and whose trunk he had ridden in her guessed- was singing along to some music. An Alanis Morissette song about learning'. Her voice was strong and held a tune rather nicely but she was no Alanis Morissette. Her voice moved closer, then away. A bump and a tinkle of metal on china. The music was turned down and a crack of wan light shot across the room he lay in as the door inched open.

The woman's face peered into the darkness and sought his eyes, seemed surprised to find them open then retreated momentarily. Dr Lecter blinked once as the light was switched on and the woman re-entered with a large bowl and a cloth, setting them down by the bed.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, respectful with a slight tremor.

How did she think he was feeling? Pissed off for a start. He said nothing, just stared at her, locking his gaze to hers until she looked away. The victory did nothing to sate his anger but it did prove his captor to be fallible. He kept that knowledge in the forefront of his mind.

"You-"She broke off with a nervous cough. "You had a bullet wound in your leg. Not by me." She met his eyes but he remained silent. " I removed the bullet but the wound, it's a bit messy. I may need to clean it again. The wound, it's on your thigh. Just so you know I'm not being…indecent."

He muttered a small, derisive laugh but didn't waver his gaze. She coloured with anger but seemed to think better of saying anything. She eased his trousers down gently, lifting the material over the seeping wound, face concentrated. Dr Lecter looked at the ceiling. A series of cracks riddled the plaster and he found shapes in them- they spiralled it seemed into an eye with hugely elongate lashes like a Dali work. He realised the woman was talking again as a warm cloth ran over the ripped skin of his leg.

"-under the employment of Mason Verger, as you may have guessed by now. My orders are simply to transport you from here to him, without harming you excessively or alerting the authorities. This isn't personal. I know nothing of you."

She chanced meeting his gaze again and found those sultry eyes fixed on her again, the raw power they radiated still inhibiting her usual professional calm and confidence. He **bothered** her, was the plain truth of the matter. Deeply and undeniably. She regretted taking on this mission- money would no longer rule her decisions.

Dabbing a little astringent onto the wound to help it seal and mend, she looked into his face, half hoping he would wince at the sting, show he was human under those terrible eyes. But he simply glared right back at her, unmoved it seemed.

Finished with his wound she lifted his hips and re-adjusted his clothing, avoiding that terrible gaze and staying a good distance from his mouth, aware of the tearing teeth that it housed and the diabolical mind willing to use them.

As she stood to leave, lifting the now red tinted water in the basin, she turned to leave. As she flicked the ligth off again, his voice cut through the dark room to her, his words chilling her to the bone.

"The wounds are white now, aren't they? You know they aren't going to heal."

He spoke softly but each word was tipped with poison malice and it cut her, although she was loathed to a admit it.

She slammed his door and took the basin hastily back to the bathroom. Placing down shakily, she tugged up the tight sleeves of her jumper. The reason for her long absence from the business glared back at her, identical white stripes of scarring running down her inner wrists. All the anguish and misery that had caused them and the long, painful recovery period.

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck **could** he know? He had only seen her for five minutes and she had kept her sleeves down, as she always had, and now it seemed always would have to.

'The wounds are white now' Two white lines, two white scars. Bright against her dusky skin. Bright and awful. Bright and disgusting. Bright and damning.

And her mind was finally forced to agree with that strange man, and with the small rational fraction of her traumatised mind. No, they wouldn't fade, they wouldn't heal. Scarred. Reminded. Forever.

She sat on the edge of the bath and tried to stop her trembling body. She would not be weak again, she would not give in to her demons. Not anymore. Not because of some fucking nut tied to the bed down the hall. Not for him, not for anyone. Even as she was repeating her mantra n her head, the tears had begin to fall and her weakness overcame rationality once more.


End file.
